I waltzed into the Republican Women's Club biweekly luncheon looking drop dead gorgeous. I don't usually wear dresses on weekdays, but I was wearing one that day -- and it was expensive. My hair and makeup were flawless and I had on a pair of heels that were not very comfortable, but were essential to the overall effect.
You see, I am a lesbian in addition to being a Republican and I took the opportunity every two weeks to shatter the stereotypes about "dykes" that these stupid women carried around in their heads. Everyone in this small Nebraska town knew I was a lesbian. It's not as if I wore a sign around my neck that said "lesbian," but I had lived there all my life, openly dated girls beginning in high school and never pretended to be anything else.
The main reason I joined the club was because I knew how desperately they didn't want me there. Unfortunately for them, there was no way they could keep me out. I believe in free enterprise and own a profitable construction firm. My anger at Republican homophobia made me want to be a living proof of the stupidity of their prejudices. I wear jeans and a hard hat when I tour my construction sites, but I dressed to the nines for these luncheons. And I loved being more attractive and "feminine" than most of them.
I stopped at the little table near the door which holds the plastic name tags we put on at every meeting and pinned mine on. It might as well have said "Paula Nesbitt, the lesbian" for all the warmth I received as I took an empty chair at one of the round tables. The other women were less than happy to have me sitting with them and gave me the most perfunctory nod one could imagine. I was used to the cold shoulder, however, and just gave them my most radiant smile.
Feeling a little devilish, I reached into my handbag and took out a button which said "IMRU2?" and pinned it next to the name tag. One of the other women glanced at it. I could see the wheels slowly turning in her head and then she made a pissy little snorting sound and turned away.
I started nibbling on the usual salads as the formal part of the meeting began. The speaker was introduced by Lauren Leeman, the club's President. Lauren was an attractive woman in her mid-thirties with beautiful thick black hair. But she was the biggest tightass in the whole bunch. From the time she had become President two years earlier she had dreamed of getting me to leave, but to no avail. She was a shrill opponent of gay rights and a holier-than-everyone born-again Christian. I couldn't remember the last time she had said a word to me, but I didn't much care. The few times I had run into her and her wealthy husband socially she had totally ignored me.
I almost fell asleep hearing all about the Governor's task force on economic development. As I fetched my coat after the meeting I came face to face with Lauren and, as always, she looked through me as if I were a pane of glass. I just smiled at her and said "have a nice day."
Two weeks later I flew to Chicago for a building trades convention. After a day of meetings and seminars I decided that I didn't want to stay cooped up in my hotel room watching TV so I decided to go out. Wanting to get out of downtown, I checked a Chicago gay/lesbian guide and saw the listing for a bar in the suburbs called "C.L.I.T." I figured that one would do. I put on a sexy outfit and, after deciding that I liked what I saw in the mirror, went down the elevator and hopped in a cab. I was pretty horny and had already decided that getting laid that night was by no means out of the question.
After a twenty minute cab ride I walked in and sat at the bar. The music was heavy and loud and the dance floor was full. There were two pool tables in the back and they were being used. I ordered a beer and sipped it as I checked out the women who were in sight. None of them appealed to me so I walked back toward the pool tables to watch for a while. There was a woman sitting at a table in the corner and I knew she looked familiar so I went closer for a better look.
It was Lauren Leeman! She was slutted up but there was no doubt that it was her. If I were a better person I would have slipped away before she noticed me and spent the weeks and months ahead reveling in a delicious bit of secret knowledge. But she had screwed me over too many times and I wasn't about to give her a free pass.
I walked up to her table. She looked up and her eyes became as big as saucers and she went pale. I couldn't believe it, but she started glaring at me as if I had done something to her. She stood up and motioned for me to follow her out of the bar.
I assumed she was going to say something, but not a word was exchanged as we walked two blocks and went into a nice building. She took out a key as we rode up the elevator and let me into her apartment. I knew she had money, but I never would have dreamed in a million years that she spent some of it on an out-of-town fuck pad. There was a kitchenette and a small table, but the main attraction was a king size bed.
